


Power Struggle

by bestwithalisp



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M, Knife Play, Neck Grabbing, boot licking?, face crushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6749152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestwithalisp/pseuds/bestwithalisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An opportunity has arisen on Starkiller Base, but in order to qualify, you need to complete several weeks of menial housekeeping duties.  Kylo Ren is unimpressed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Struggle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuckingkyloren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkyloren/gifts).



> A fic I wrote for a friend, who quite enjoys disgusting things, but DONT WE ALL?!

The past four weeks were draining. The First Order had an opening as an apprentice mechanic, but in order to work your way to that position, you were to complete multiple rounds of sanitation services. This was your second to last week streaking the west end of Starkiller with anti-bacterial cleaner, while wandering in and out of the corridors, ensuring the Lieutenants and Officers beds were garbed with fresh linens. Normally items were tidied during the weekdays and you would only need a cleaning droid to retrieve the occasional sticky sheet set after the bouts of fun they would have from a drunken high.

Two more weeks.

You repeated this to yourself as you exited the room, coming to a clearing of a hallway. You were nearly done, but that meant the most expansive room was still left to be cleaned–the Commanders. His items were always hyper-organized, you barely ever felt a need to go in there even to dust. You had only crossed his path once; tall, faceless, calculated. He didn’t need to say a word but you knew by just his body language he was your superior. Rumors often spilled through the halls of how he would destroy console stations in a bout of rage, dragging Command centre personal from one edge of the room to the next with only his outstretched palm, clamping their neck under his grip. 

You always enjoyed a test of power, perhaps to see if you could crumple them back, the thought of toying with the Commander nearly made you clench at the thought. Your feet tapped against the hard floor tiles and you made your way up to the large keypad by the blaster door. When it slid open you noticed everything exactly how it had been five days prior. Nothing on the control panels suggested his fingers had even touched them. The hallway, save for a few strokes of his digits on the lighting command center. The bed was made exactly how you dressed it: sheets rolled tightly over the mattress, corners tucked to perfect symmetry of either side. You nearly felt it was a waste of time even being here. 

The droid delivering the mop bucket set it down before you, while you dipped the head of your mop into the water, pushing the liquid from edges of his room to the entryway. You just finished the area when you heard the blaster door slide shut behind you. The only other noise sounding was a heavy thud of feet and a distorted static in rhythm with it’s breathing. 

He was _in there_.

You guessed it was only natural, they were his quarters after all, and you turned yourself to face him, ready with your “I’m sorry, I am almost finished,” excuse.

He walked over to you before the words escaped, his fists clenched tightly, for reasons you could only assume was anger. You had wondered if you caught him during one of those moods, something had made him tick and you were in his way. 

“I was explicit with Hux. I don’t need a cleaning maid moving around my belongings,”

You straightened out, braving his advance, defending your position

“I’m sorry, Commander, but the General has stated in my debriefing that these are my sanitation quarters. My orders come from him, you are welcome to re-issue my whereabouts if it pleases you”

Before you could reel back, he was in front of you, his hand twisting in bunches around your hair, forcing your head up to look into the emptiness of his mask.

“Careful, _girl_ ,” his other hand wrapped around the ridges of your neck, and you could feel the pressure of each finger snapping into the muscles pulsating underneath his leather grip, “remember who’s quarters you’re in.”

Anger spilled out of you, grabbing at the woven seams of his digits, clawing them apart. After several moments of him crushing you slowly, you looked up at him, your face twisting into a shade of malice, and quipped, 

“Do your worst.”

He pushed his arm down, throwing the back of your head against the cold floor, still slippery from where it was cleaned. You scrambled to move from the floor, but the profile of your face grazing the cold air was pushed further into the tile by a mix of rubber and steel. It was cementing you into place, forcing your hands to grasp around it, realizing it was actually his boot holding you there. The pressure grew around your cheekbone, the splinter and stinging of light cracking around your jaw while you kicked your legs out helplessly in an attempt to free yourself from the vice grip he had against you. You felt a wet mist hit your face–his spit–while and he released your side, immediate shots of pain running through your face that were blocked off by the blood flow. 

“I instructed the General to redirect you because I’ve watched you wander around my quarters. I think about it, I get off on it,” you rubbed your face, careful to not add to the throbbing, still on the ground. He scoffed at you, quipping “Such a dirty little bitch, cleaning my floor but wants her face wiped with it still. Clean this,” the tip of his massive foot grazed against your lips, pulling the top of your pout open. You darted your tongue out, turning your body to get a better angle, dragging it along the ridges of the leather and lapping up whatever alien dirt, sweat and blood he had strode over on this day. To his surprise, you moaned at him while you tasted this indescribable substance tracing around the lines connecting the sole with the heel. He leaned down, gripping you by the beginnings of his bruises he created and drug you back towards his bed, lifting you up while you sputtered at the tightening of his grip. He moved a leg to each side of your body, straddling you against any means of escape.

You were thrown there, his hand unrelenting, and you remembered your knife given to you as an heirloom to protect yourself. You pulled it out of your belt quickly, aiming for the jagged column of his collar. He “tutted” you, an audible chuckle in condescension, before gripping your fingers and pulling the blade away. 

“I’ll give you the gift of cutting me once, just once. If you don’t kill me, I’ll fuck you right here and now,”

“Take off the mask,” 

You had an idea, but it would require seeing his face, making a mark on him where he would feel it, and it would be known to the rest of the base. He considered you, nearly questioning if you were even worthy to look upon him, as he finally loosened the grip on your neck and brought it to the space under his mask. The leather of his thumbs were gripping onto either side of the locks, flicking them open, an echoed “click” shooting off the bare tiles, followed by a hiss of the snout, his fingers gathering to pull the metal from his head. 

To your surprise, he was youthful. You had always imagined the Commander of such large vessels and this Base to be older, more refined and reputable. His gaze bore into you while you struggled to regain your composure. He was testing you, seeing if you would break under the realization of his face. You blinked several times back at him, your senses plunging back into you. You maneuvered below his weighty build, sliding yourself out from under him, letting him advance on you quickly. He raised himself up on the bed, his torso being supported above his kneeling state and going to reach for you, but for once you were quicker.

You moved to straddle him at this point, you could see this battle of dominance was becoming an amusing game for him. The blade of your knife hooked under his chin, spinning the point slowly into it, dragging your other hand up to touch a cheek, your thumb curving around his pouted upper lip. 

“Open,” 

He was questioning you as you stroked his lip, the point of your blade was urging him to be compliant as you dug it further into his chin. He nodded once against the edge of the knife, his lips parting slightly,

“ _Wider_ ,”

His jaw fell under your hand, until his mouth was open wide enough for your next order,

“Let’s see that tongue,”

He retreated from you slightly, remembering his agreement with you. 

I’ll give you the gift of cutting me once, just once

His tongue began working forward past his teeth, displaying itself for you fully outstretched. You looked up into his eyes which were still questioning you and you pulled the blade from under his face, moving your hand to cup under his jaw and hold his position in place. You inserted the end of the blade into the cavern of his mouth, pressing the sharpest point inward. The knife was slowly working down to the edge of his tongue, blood trickling out immediately wherever your incision was made, while he tried to not writhe under the pain you were causing him. 

You end of the bargain was up. He pulled his tongue back into his mouth, and his hands gripped your wrist wielding the knife. He squeezed the nerves to the point of you having to drop it from your grip, tipping you back onto the bed in one swift motion. His weight was over powering you, and he repeated the motion of holding your jaw open while he forced his tongue into your mouth, persuading you to lap up the blood pooling inside of his mouth. He moved his mouth to lick over your collarbone, down the ridges of your neck, and around your ear, holding himself there and staining any skin he could find. 

His hand worked down to your leggings, hooking his digits under the stitching and pulling them down to your knees, allowing you to finish his work. He leaned up just enough to free himself from his robes, his hand still in the restraints of his gloves, working his hands over his shaft slowly. His breath began shaking at the sight of you on display for him, taking to fingers and lifting up your needy pussy at the entrance, inspecting it further. He balled some of his saliva and trickled it out of his mouth, aiming for it to string to your clit. His mixture was a dark pink, nearly red with blood and was cold by the time it touched your nerves. Your back arched into him at the feeling while he used his thumb to spread it around you, pulling the vicious substance down to your entrance.

When he felt you were wet enough for him, he positioned himself towards your aching hole, clenching with want, and he stuffed his way in, not giving you a chance to adjust to his feeling. 

He was relentless, almost hateful. His thrusts were almost a mockery of how you think you have power over him, but it only made you cry louder for him to fill you deeper. He pushed in further, his face leaning back in to darken his bloody stains, a hand gripping back around the side of your neck pulling it to one side, and he started biting around the flesh of your jaw. 

He widened the space between your body, enough to slick his other hand down with his tongue, moving it to flick over your nub, pulling at it with his index finger and thumb, working it in circles, while his dick pushed into your stomach. He was pulling you up an erotic hill quickly, determined for you to convulse around him, determined to beat you at this little game, and it seemed as though he was correct. You couldn’t hold yourself still any longer, pushing your climax away for as long as possible before it finally turned against you, rippling over your cunt, causing your thighs to contract against their will. 

His lips moved to your ear, eliciting a breathy whisper “I win, whore”. His words causing your head to tilt back into the pillow and it seemed as though his own thoughts overwhelmed him as well because you felt a harsh throb against your entrance, his hand shaking around your neck and his breath was primal. 

He pulled out at the last twitch, staring up at your blankly,

“Off my bed, bitch, before you leak” 

You rushed off of it, a slow drip of his thick seed threatening to spill from you onto the tile you had just cleaned. You pressed your thighs together, turning to find your pants, and his hand hooked onto your pussy, running his forefinger through his cum, bringing it to your lips and forcing you to part them, while he leaned in to kiss you, his mouth still bloody with the wound you gave him. 

You retreated, the new taste contrasting largely with the gravel of his boot loosening itself from your molar. You dressed quickly and made your way to the blaster door, trying not to look at the mess that was created. You had just heard the edge of his voice speak as you left.

“Next time, try harder”


End file.
